Here is a story to keep you all entertained for a while my best beloveds…
How the Whale got his Throat,
Ruyard Kipling
HOW THE WHALE GOT HIS THROAT
IN the sea, once upon a time, O my Best Beloved, there was a
Whale, and he ate fishes. He ate the starfish and the garfish,
and the crab and the dab, and the plaice and the dace, and the
skate and his mate, and the mackereel and the pickereel, and the
really truly twirly-whirly eel. All the fishes he could find in
all the sea he ate with his mouth–so! Till at last there was
only one small fish left in all the sea, and he was a small
‘Stute Fish, and he swam a little behind the Whale’s right ear,
so as to be out of harm’s way. Then the Whale stood up on his
tail and said, ‘I’m hungry.’ And the small ‘Stute Fish said in a
small ’stute voice, ‘Noble and generous Cetacean, have you ever
tasted Man?’
‘No,’ said the Whale. ‘What is it like?’
‘Nice,’ said the small ‘Stute Fish. ‘Nice but nubbly.’
‘Then fetch me some,’ said the Whale, and he made the sea froth
up with his tail.
‘One at a time is enough,’ said the ‘Stute Fish. ‘If you swim to
latitude Fifty North, longitude Forty West (that is magic), you
will find, sitting _on_ a raft, _in_ the middle of the sea, with
nothing on but a pair of blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders
(you must _not_ forget the suspenders, Best Beloved), and a jack-
knife, one ship-wrecked Mariner, who, it is only fair to tell you,
is a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.’
So the Whale swam and swam to latitude Fifty North, longitude
Forty West, as fast as he could swim, and _on_ a raft, _in_ the
middle of the sea, _with_ nothing to wear except a pair of blue
canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders (you must particularly
remember the suspenders, Best Beloved), _and_ a jack-knife, he
found one single, solitary shipwrecked Mariner, trailing his
toes in the water. (He had his mummy’s leave to paddle, or else
he would never have done it, because he was a man of infinite-
resource-and-sagacity.)
Then the Whale opened his mouth back and back and back till it
nearly touched his tail, and he swallowed the shipwrecked
Mariner, and the raft he was sitting on, and his blue canvas
breeches, and the suspenders (which you _must_ not forget), _and_
the jack-knife–He swallowed them all down into his warm, dark,
inside cup-boards, and then he smacked his lips–so, and turned
round three times on his tail.
But as soon as the Mariner, who was a man of infinite-resource-
and-sagacity, found himself truly inside the Whale’s warm, dark,
inside cup-boards, he stumped and he jumped and he thumped and
he bumped, and he pranced and he danced, and he banged and he
clanged, and he hit and he bit, and he leaped and he creeped, and
he prowled and he howled, and he hopped and he dropped, and he
cried and he sighed, and he crawled and he bawled, and he stepped
and he lepped, and he danced hornpipes where he shouldn’t, and
the Whale felt most unhappy indeed. (_Have_ you forgotten the
suspenders?)
So he said to the ‘Stute Fish, ‘This man is very nubbly, and
besides he is making me hiccough. What shall I do?’
‘Tell him to come out,’ said the ‘Stute Fish.
So the Whale called down his own throat to the shipwrecked
Mariner, ‘Come out and behave yourself. I’ve got the hiccoughs.’
‘Nay, nay!’ said the Mariner. ‘Not so, but far otherwise. Take
me to my natal-shore and the white-cliffs-of-Albion, and I’ll
think about it.’ And he began to dance more than ever.
‘You had better take him home,’ said the ‘Stute Fish to the
Whale. ‘I ought to have warned you that he is a man of
infinite-resource-and-sagacity.’
So the Whale swam and swam and swam, with both flippers and his
tail, as hard as he could for the hiccoughs; and at last he saw
the Mariner’s natal-shore and the white-cliffs-of-Albion, and
he rushed half-way up the beach, and opened his mouth wide and
wide and wide, and said, ‘Change here for Winchester, Ashuelot,
Nashua, Keene, and stations on the _Fitch_burg Road;’ and just as
he said ‘Fitch’ the Mariner walked out of his mouth. But while
the Whale had been swimming, the Mariner, who was indeed a person
of infinite-resource-and-sagacity, had taken his jack-knife and
cut up the raft into a little square grating all running criss-
cross, and he had tied it firm with his suspenders (_now_, you
know why you were not to forget the suspenders!), and he dragged
that grating good and tight into the Whale’s throat, and there
it stuck! Then he recited the following _Sloka_, which, as you
have not heard it, I will now proceed to relate–
By means of a grating
I have stopped your ating.
For the Mariner he was also an Hi-ber-ni-an. And he stepped out
on the shingle, and went home to his mother, who had given him
leave to trail his toes in the water; and he married and lived
happily ever afterward. So did the Whale. But from that day on,
the grating in his throat, which he could neither cough up nor
swallow down, prevented him eating anything except very, very
small fish; and that is the reason why whales nowadays never eat
men or boys or little girls.
The small ‘Stute Fish went and hid himself in the mud under the
Door-sills of the Equator. He was afraid that the Whale might be
angry with him.
The Sailor took the jack-knife home. He was wearing the blue
canvas breeches when he walked out on the shingle. The suspenders
were left behind, you see, to tie the grating with; and that is
the end of _that_ tale.
WHEN the cabin port-holes are dark and green
Because of the seas outside;
When the ship goes _wop_ (with a wiggle between)
And the steward falls into the soup-tureen,
And the trunks begin to slide;
When Nursey lies on the floor in a heap,
And Mummy tells you to let her sleep,
And you aren’t waked or washed or dressed,
Why, then you will know (if you haven’t guessed)
You’re ‘Fifty North and Forty West!’
.
